


Happy Birthday (Again)

by OfficialStarsandGutters



Series: To the Moon and Back: Werewolf Mickey [10]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 01:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11475981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfficialStarsandGutters/pseuds/OfficialStarsandGutters
Summary: This initially was not written as part of the werewolf Mickey verse, has no mention of past instalments or the supernatural elements, and can be read as a standalone. I just thought the way they interacted and the familiar fondness between them was reminiscent of this series.-“Ugh,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes and scowling. Ian looks at him curiously. “Hate that shit.”“What... Birthdays?”





	Happy Birthday (Again)

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a quick silly little piece of fun because I saw this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=69iEMdSG2_0 and my brain was immediately like "imagine Gallavich". The idea stuck and I had to get it out.

They're sitting across from each other at a window table, watching people pass on the street as they eat in comfortable silence. Ian strokes his ankle along Mickey's leg every so often; brief, familiar contact. Mickey looks across, catches his eye. Ian smiles, and a smile flickers across Mickey's face in return. Ian notices it first. He's facing the door from the kitchen, so he has a direct view when a waitress comes out with a sparkler propped in a brownie. He grins even before she begins to sing.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!”

Ian watches with joy as she makes her way across to the table of another couple, presenting the giggling girl with the birthday brownie as she continues to sing Happy Birthday.

“Ugh,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes and scowling. Ian looks at him curiously. “Hate that shit.”

“What... Birthdays?”

“The whole makin' a big fuckin' fuss out of it. Gettin' the servers to sing and shit.”

“Why?”

“Just. It's unnecessary.”

“Why do you hate joy, Mickey?”

“Ha fuckin' ha.” Mickey kicks him under the table. Ian catches his leg between both of his and holds it. “I just think it's stupid, alright?”

Ian's eyes brighten with inspiration.

“Ey, no. I know that look. Don't even think about it. I won't give you the chance, anyway. You think I'm gonna be dumb enough to let you take me out on my birthday? Nah.” Mickey shakes his head. Ian pouts. “Not happening.”

Ian tightens his hold on Mickey's leg and jerks it swiftly towards him. Mickey slides forward in his chair. His arms flail wildly. He slams his palms down on the table to catch himself, cutlery clattering loudly. A few other diners glance towards them.

“Are you okay?” Ian asks, with feigned wide eyed innocence. “What happened?”

“Fuck you, Gallagher.”

“Maybe later.” Ian grins, ignoring the daggers Mickey is glaring at him, and steals one of his fries.

*

Ian yawns and stretches as he comes out of the hospital, rubbing at his sleepy eyes. He's just coming off a long night shift and his body is tired and aching. He's been puked on, bled on, and he has the beginning of an impressive black eye blossoming from where a drunk woman elbowed him in the face. He thinks it was accidentally, but it's hard to be sure.

“Fuck happened to you?” Mickey asks, brow furrowing in concern.

“My eye socket got acquainted with a lady's elbow. Hi.” Ian stops any further questions by swooping down to kiss Mickey good morning, hands resting light on his hips. Mickey tenses automatically, still not used to public affection, before he softens into it. When they move apart, he sweeps a thumb over Ian's cheek.

“Rough,” is all he says, then: “Wanna get breakfast?”

“Yesss.” Ian moans at the thought, his stomach rumbling. “I would _love_ to get breakfast.”

They walk a few blocks to their usual diner, sitting in the back booth, their unofficial seat. It's discreet enough seating that if Ian reaches across to stroke the back of Mickey's hand while he skims the menu, Mickey lets him.

“I gotta piss. Order my usual.”

“Okay.” Ian squeezes Mickey's hand before he slides away. When the waitress, Kelsey, comes down, he orders himself eggs and toast, and chocolate chip pancakes for Mickey. “Oh, and... Can you do me a favour?”

He explains what he wants to Kelsey, who has served them often enough to be familiar with them as a couple. She smiles sweetly at him when he's done.

“Yeah, you just leave it to me, I'll get that sorted.”

“Thanks, Kelsey.”

Ian leans back against the seat and closes his eyes, tiredness pressing down on him. It's his last shift of the week, and he's got two days off to reset his sleep pattern, but it's always difficult transitioning back from lates. He yawns widely, but is cut off halfway when someone sticks a finger in his mouth. Certain it's Mickey, Ian bites down.

“Hey.”

His eyes flick open to find Mickey scowling at him. He loosens his teeth, then presses a kiss to Mickey's finger instead.

“That's more like it.” Mickey drops back into his seat, and they fill the minutes while they wait with Ian talking about his shift. As he talks, he keeps his phone propped up on the table, open on his camera. When Kelsey returns, he hits record.

“Happy birthday to you,” she sings, approaching with a stack of pancakes that have a burning candle stuck in the top of them.

“Whaaat the fuck?” Mickey turns to look at Ian in confusion.

“Happy birthday to you!”

“It's not my-”

Ian grins at him broadly.

“Happy birthday dear Mickey!”

“I fuckin' hate you,” Mickey hisses, before trying to neutralise his expression as Kelsey sets his plate in front of him with a flourish.

“Happy birthday to you!”

Any other customers in the diner join Ian in cheering and clapping as Kelsey finishes singing. Mickey's flushed right up to the tips of his ears. He manages a tight, fake smile for Kelsey.

“Blow out your candle, Mick,” Ian says, voice tainted with amusement.

“Don't forget to make a wish,” says Kelsey.

Mickey glares directly down the camera before he huffs out an exhale. The candle flickers out to more applause.

“I'll bring your eggs now,” Kelsey says, and departs.

“I wished that you would choke on your eggs,” Mickey says, stabbing at his pancakes with fierce aggression.

“You're not supposed to tell your wish.” Ian's grinning so broadly it's hurting his cheeks. He clicks off the record and slides his phone away. “Now it won't come true.”

Mickey flips him off with his free hand as he shoves a large forkful of pancake into his mouth.

*

It's three weeks later when Ian does it again. He waits until he's sure Mickey's not expecting it, thinking the stunt was just a one off joke. They don't eat out very frequently, but Ian is patient, and he waits for his opportunity.

They're in a small Italian restaurant that does a lunch deal for five dollars; pizza or pasta. Ian eats spaghetti carbonara as Mickey ignores his cutlery and eats his pizza with his hands. This time it is Ian that excuses himself to the bathroom, and on his way he murmurs quickly to the waiter that it's his boyfriend's birthday, glance flicking discreetly to Mickey to check he's not looking.

The waiter waits for Ian to return, and he flashes him a thumbs up as he moves back to the table, dropping across from Mickey. He discreetly slides his phone up from under the table, hitting record just in time to catch the furrow of Mickey's brow as the waiter starts singing. His expression goes from confused to irritated within seconds, and his glare turns on Ian.

“You didn't.”

But Ian's broad grin is enough to confirm that he did.

Mickey doesn't quite manage a fake smile this time, just a tight line of his mouth as he's presented with a bowl of gelato, a sparkler burning atop it. His narrowed eyes hold Ian's as he huffs the flame out with more force than necessary, waiting for their grinning waiter to retreat before he delivers a swift kick to Ian beneath the table.

“Ow,” Ian says, but it's blended with his laughter. Mickey sighs and lifts his spoon, sinking it into the gelato.

“I fuckin' hate you,” he grumbles, even though they both know he doesn't.

“What a grumpy birthday boy,” Ian coos, still filming as he pokes at the corner of Mickey's mouth, trying to press it up into a smile. Mickey bats his hand away.

“Very funny, asshole. Since it's my birthday, you must be getting the bill then.”

“Course.” Ian stops his camera and tucks his phone away. Some of the tension drains from Mickey's shoulders, mollified by his free dessert. “And, y'know, we've obviously gotta have birthday sex when we get home.”

Mickey's eyebrows arch towards his hairline and he smirks around his spoon.

“Obviously,” he says, voice no longer sullen. Ian counts that as a win.

*

Ian doesn't try it again for almost five months.

Mickey won't even eat out with him for a few months after the second incident, no matter how much Ian sweet talks, begs, or bribes. The first time he eventually caved was on one of their adventures, where they'd gotten into Mickey's car and went driving without direction, exploring new roads to see what they could find. They'd come across a small town with the weirdest thrift shop. Ian found a t-shirt that had a logo printed on it like an old horror movie poster. He bought it when Mickey wasn't looking. Tacky, but Mickey had loved it, just as Ian had thought he would.

They spent the better part of an hour wandering around the town, until Mickey's stomach had started to rumble. After some grumbling, Mickey had agreed to go to McDonald's.

“Cause they don't do the fuckin' birthday thing.”

That was almost three months ago. They've been out a few times since, and Ian has behaved himself. No surprise birthday desserts. Gradually, Mickey has relaxed.

He sits across from Ian now, cradling his stomach. They're at a Mexican restaurant, and they've just finished the biggest burritos Ian had ever seen in his life. Mickey's head rolls back against his seat and he burps loudly.

“How is it you can eat that and still look like a fuckin' bean pole, man? I look like I'm ready to pop a whole litter.”

“It's cute.” Ian smiles, reaching across to rub the soft bulge of Mickey's stomach. Mickey briefly enjoys the sensation, eyes half shut, before he bats Ian's hand away. This time, Ian had arranged it with the restaurant beforehand.

“Cumpleaños feliz! Cumpleaños feliz!”

Mickey's eyes spring open wide at the sound, recognition of the tune dawning over his expression. He looks at Ian, his eyebrows raised high in disbelief. Ian tries to hold back his grin, he really does, but their waitress bounds down with such enthusiasm, and Mickey's expression is so priceless, he really can't help it. The dessert is presented to Mickey with a flourish, and then the waitress is clapping as she continues to sing. Ian claps along, grinning broadly. Mickey looks like he's sat on a porcupine.

“You are such an asshole,” he says when the waitress departs, sullen. Ian lifts his hand and kisses his tattooed knuckles.

“I love you, too.”

Mickey flips him off, pulling the candle out of his brownie and tossing it on the table between them.

*

Ian is practically vibrating at Mickey's side as they walk home, holding his hand and trying to tug him along quicker.

“What are you up to?” Mickey asks, scowling at him. Ian flashes a bright smile in response.

“Just excited for your birthday.”

“Told you I ain't doin' anything for it.”

“You said we couldn't go out, you didn't say we couldn't do anything for it.”

“Ian.” There's warning in Mickey's tone. Ian ignores it.

He presses Mickey against the wall the second they're through the front door, kissing him hard, hands roaming over his chest to his stomach, settling on his hips. His kiss moves from hard and heated, to deep and languid, and when he moves away, he nuzzles against Mickey's neck, pressing a sweet kiss over his pulse point.

“Well, if it's that kinda somethin', I guess I could get on board,” Mickey says.

“House is empty,” Ian says. “Go shower. I'll sort dinner.”

“You ain't comin' to wash my back?” Mickey's lips quirk up in a smile and his eyebrows raise suggestively.

“Go.” Ian gives him a little push, then slaps his ass.

When Mickey comes back, there's a large pizza box on the living room table, framed on one side by a six pack of beer, and on the other with three neatly rolled joins.

“I was gonna cook you somethin' myself, but you love pizza, and you said you didn't want a big fuss.” Ian shrugs, looking at Mickey closely to gauge his reaction. As much as Mickey had stressed he didn't want to do anything for his birthday, Ian doesn't want to let it sip by without acknowledgement, but he doesn't want to fuck it up, either.

“This is perfect,” Mickey says, climbing over the back of the couch and dropping onto it. He reaches for Ian, then pulls him down into a lingering kiss. “This is exactly how I'd wanna spend my evening.”

“Good.” Ian smiles, relieved, and sinks down into the couch, curling around Mickey. He's got Seagal waiting to go, hitting play as Mickey reaches for a slice of pizza. His face lights up, and he looks back to Ian with a soft, genuine smile.

An hour and a half later, they're both full, high, and kind of tipsy. Ian's reclining against the arm of the couch. His thighs are spread. Mickey is nestled between them, his back against Ian's chest and his head on his shoulder. Ian's lower legs are curled around his waist, and Mickey is absently stroking at the line of skin available at his ankle, tracing around the bone.

“I've got to show you somethin',” Ian says, nudging Mickey. He groans in protest, but eventually shifts enough to allow Ian to go retrieve the laptop from the kitchen. Lip had helped him prepare something on it, and taught him how to connect it to the TV. He attaches the HDMI cable, and after a few clicks, a video starts to play on the screen. It is Mickey. As singing starts in the background, he looks towards Ian with confusion.

“What the fuck?”

“Fuck off,” Mickey says in the present, hazily glaring at Ian. “You recorded these?”

“Yeah.”

Ian crawls back onto the couch and curls himself around Mickey, who grumbles through the three videos of his surprise birthday desserts. Ian burrows his face into Mickey's neck at the end when the video changes to him, sitting at the Gallagher kitchen table.

“Hey, Mick. I know you don't really care about your birthday, or like celebrating or anything, but I'm pretty glad you were born, and I think the day you came into the world is something worth celebrating. So, thanks for letting me share it with you. One day doesn't really seem like enough to acknowledge your existence, but I guess your unofficial birthday celebrations have kinda helped with that, ha ha. Anyway, I love you, and I hope you've had a good day so far. Oh, and you gotta book time off work soon, alright? 'Cause we're goin' to Florida at the end of September.”

Ian in the video clears his throat and shifts in his seat a bit, before proceeding to sing Happy Birthday, but Mickey has stopped paying attention. He's now looking at Ian in the present with wide eyes.

“What?” He blinks, his eyes glassy and pink rimmed from the weed. “You fuckin' serious?”

Ian grins, lopsided.

“Yeah.”

“Florida?”

“Yeah.” Ian laughs, and Mickey's giddy excited laughter joins his. He presses Ian down into the couch and kisses him, their teeth clicking together awkwardly as they both continue to laugh.

“Florida?” Mickey says again, disbelief evident in his voice.

“Yeah, Mick. Nice and hot and sunny. We can see the beach. Hit the theme parks. Have hotel sex.”

Mickey's tongue presses at the corner of his mouth when Ian mentions sex, eyes hooded as he drags his gaze over him.

“How about we get some practice sex in now, then?”

“Sounds like a smart plan,” Ian says, nodding along seriously. Then they're both giggling again as Ian rises and catches Mickey under the thighs, heaving him up and kissing him as he carries him towards the stairs.

 


End file.
